Stained Blood Red
by Mooncombo
Summary: For once, she let him really see her. She let him see the fear and pain. Even though familiar words of assurance that she was fine danced at the tip of her tongue, she whispered instead, "I can still feel his fingers around my heart." Post Milagro one shot.
No infringement intended, the characters belong to Chris Carter, blah, blah, blah.

One shot post Milagro.

* * *

 **Stained Blood Red**

 **by Mooncombo**

His breath caught as she let out a wail unlike anything he had ever heard come out of her. A raw keening that blistered his senses as she clung to him. Her nails scraped and clung to the fabric on his back as he squeezed her tightly against his chest. The coppery scent of blood overwhelmed him as her raspy sobbing tore at her lungs.

Every so often, between gasping breaths, she shoved her hand between their two bodies, frantically searching for any residual gaping wound at her sternum. Her ribs and chest ached and her heart itself felt bruised and sore. Finding no ragged flesh, her arms would snake around him once more, only for the pattern to repeat itself until Mulder finally snagged her searching hand within his own.

He twisted their entwined hands until the back of his pressed firmly against her chest. The beat was strong and fierce, matching the thumping in his own chest, as fear and adrenaline pumped through them both.

"Let me see, Scully." He murmured, his cheek pressed against hers.

The distant wailing of sirens echoed through the apartment. A dead man lay in the basement, shots were fired, and surely, someone heard Scully screaming. The place would be crawling with law enforcement in a matter of moments.

He felt it the moment it happened; Scully's inherent stoic façade slipping over her as he gently lowered her to the floor. Padgett was wrong. He knew her. Lived her. Breathed her. Existed because of her. He knew with certainty that she'd allow him this because he also knew she wouldn't allow anyone else to do so.

Scully's eyes stared blindly at the ceiling, her fingers loosely circling his wrists as he quickly unbuttoned her shirt. The sirens were growing louder and more distinct with every passing moment as he opened the once pristine white shirt now stained crimson. His fingers slid over her skin, running along her ribs. He didn't ask for permission as he slipped her bra up above her breasts and pressed on her sternum. Her grip on his wrists tightened in response and her eyes squeezed shut, but she didn't stop him.

Padgett was wrong, so _fucking_ wrong. That thought beat through his mind like a mantra. She lay beneath him, bare and stained blood red. He knew, he just _knew_ beyond a doubt that she was allowing him this exploration of her body simply because it was _him_.

Her hands never left his wrists as he slid her bra back into place and buttoned her shirt.

"Look at me," he said softly. She blinked and finally sought his gaze with eyes that were glassy and bright. He searched their depths, seeking and scanning, asking the questions he couldn't put into words.

And for once, she let him really see her. She let him see the fear and pain. Even though familiar words of assurance that she was fine danced at the tip of her tongue, she whispered instead, "I can still feel his fingers around my heart."

XXX

Hours passed as questions were asked and answered. Samples were bagged and catalogued. A body, sans heart, was housed within a black cadaver bag en route to the morgue.

Mulder had watched in fascination as Scully quickly replaced the open vulnerability she had shown him, semi naked and bloody on his floor, with a practiced and perfected stoicism. The Metro PD was the first to arrive, followed quickly by the FBI. The apartment had been electric and buzzing. With each retelling of the day's events, her façade slipped and faltered, nearly imperceptibly, until Mulder finally ushered them out of Padgett's apartment, assuring the powers that be that they would finish the reports and interviews the following day.

Alone once more, Scully slowly wandered the barely furnished rooms. Her finger tips glided across the wooden desk and the back of the chair. Mulder followed behind her, silently, as she made her way into the bedroom. She paused at the foot of the bed, staring at the rumpled blankets. She felt raw and exposed. Unnerved.

Eventually, she turned and brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the unfurnished fourth floor apartment.

XXX

He nearly collided with her as he burst through the door to his own apartment. She stood there, stained and small, staring at the now rust colored reminder on the rug that her heart had nearly been ripped from her chest. Her breath hitched and heaved as she sucked in air as if she was no longer able to fill her lungs. Her fingers grasped the fabric at her chest, ripping and pulling until it gave way. She pressed her fists against her breastbone as if to physically secure her heart within her ribcage. As if it could be stolen from her at any moment.

Mulder grabbed her as she doubled over, the bruising pain in her heart passing and fading. Scooping her up, he carried her to the bathroom, settling himself with her in his lap along the porcelain edge of the tub. He fiddled with the knobs for a moment until steam was swirling around them like warm clouds.

She offered up no argument as he gently undressed her. She accepted the intimacy enveloping them within the confines of the tile walls and damp air. She caught his gaze and tacit understanding passed between them as she placed her palm on his face. And neither paused to question as he helped her into the tub, removed his clothes, and then settled himself at her back.

He wound his arms tightly around her as she leaned back against him. Turning her head, she cried silently, purging the last of her fear and pain.

XXX

The sky was barely becoming gray, just before dawn, when she turned in his arms and whispered his name. They hadn't bothered with clothes; rather Mulder had wrapped her in an oversized towel and tucked her safely into his bed.

She cupped his face and kissed the corner of his mouth so softly, he might have imagined it. She kissed him again, her tongue stroking his. Sleepily, they moved against each other. Touching. Seeking. Learning.

He didn't question her and she didn't explain. She hummed beneath him, warm and pliant, and he knew there was no question that this was what she wanted. When he finally settled himself on top of her, probing at her center, she opened herself to him, welcoming him home. He moved within her achingly slowly, filling her up, healing her.

Padgett may have gotten into her mind, but he couldn't have her heart. That belonged to him, beating strongly beneath is palm as they drifted into sleep.

XXX


End file.
